


First Impressions

by mellostopheles



Category: Deadly Premonition | Red Seeds Profile
Genre: F/F, More than pie getting eaten in this diner today
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellostopheles/pseuds/mellostopheles
Summary: On a snowy morning, Olivia Cormack is fussing over getting the diner open by herself. Her husband is in bed with a cold, and she is all alone, up until one of his friends shows up looking for him. It's at that point that Olivia's first impression of Diane Ames begins to fall apart.





	First Impressions

There was a light flicker of snow outside the window, and Olivia watched it with concern, wondering if there was any point in opening up today. So far, it was little more than a dusting, but she knew how these things liked to escalate. Before you knew it, it was totally out of control. Trying to ignore the weather, she returned to straightening up the ketchup and mustard bottles on the counter. She only stopped when she heard the door open behind her, and turned quickly to see who was there. It was a surprise for anyone to be here so early, and she had not even realised the door had been left unlocked the whole time she was getting the diner ready to open.

Stepping inside, and brushing a thin trail of snowflakes from her arm, was Diane Ames. A friend of Olivia’s husband, Nick, but not one they had ever shared. Diane worked and lived at the art gallery that hid itself away at the edge of town. The building itself was like a dark and open secret. The perfect place for a woman like Diane, Olivia supposed. She could not remember the last time the two of them had talked. Putting on her practiced customer service smile, Olivia walked towards the early morning intruder, hands tucked neatly in front of her apron.

“Morning, Diane,” she said, the fake, chipper tone coming out of her own mouth bothering her a little. She knew it should not. She should be polite, friendly. Even if she had her doubts about Diane or, more specifically, the friendship she had struck up with Nick. “We aren’t really open yet, I’m afraid. I was just getting the diner ready for the breakfast rush.” Diane fixed her eyes on Olivia and slowly let a small smile swell her lips.

“I just came to see Nick,” Diane explained. “We were discussing an obscure artist last night, and I wanted to carry on the conversation while it was still fresh in my mind…” As she spoke, she carefully unwound the scarf she was wearing from around her neck, letting it slide fluidly, like it was alive. Snakelike. Olivia could not stop herself from watching the motion unfold. The scarf itself was the silk, expensive kind, that was unlikely to offer much protection against the cold outside. Quite different to the fuzzy, practical kind Olivia herself had at home. She forced herself to resume eye contact as Diane gave the scarf a last tug and wound it into the pocket of her coat.

“I’m sorry, I’m, uh, afraid he’s not here,” Olivia peeped, embarrassed that she had let herself be distracted by something so silly. Comparing fashion choices with Diane was a losing game. It should not have got into her head, even momentarily. “He’s at home.”

“Will he be here later?” Diane asked. It was a simple, innocent question, and Olivia wanted to believe that this woman’s interest was strictly friendly. She wanted to, but she knew she could not convince herself. She had been trying to do so since she found out about the two of them meeting in private. Maybe if Nick could find it in his heart to reassure her, at least once, it might be easier. It was a hard thing to do by herself.

“No… no, I don’t think so. He’s sick. He has a cold.” Olivia had left him that morning, lying in the bed in the spare room, moaning under his breath and clutching at a glass of water she had brought for him. He had seemed worse for wear and mentioned that it might be the start of the flu. In her head, Olivia had wondered if maybe the long night of drinking that had not ended until two in the morning might be partly at fault for his current state. Either way, he would not be making it into work.

“What a shame,” Diane breathed, sending a trail of fog out into the cool air in front of her face. “I suppose, in that case, some coffee?” Olivia went into waitress mode, and scurried off towards the kitchen, before it occurred to her that the diner was not, actually, open. Deciding to let it go, as she was already in front of the pot, she set about preparing a cup of coffee.

“Do you have sugar?” Olivia called out, losing her sense of formality in the empty building, as if Diane was waiting for her in her living room.

“No. Black, please,” Diane called back. A moment later Olivia brought it through, offering it with a smile. Diane took the cup from her and cradled it tightly in her hands, enjoying the heat. She went over to one of the tables and, disregarding the seats entirely, lent her tall, lithe frame against the edge.

For a few minutes, the two of them were quiet. Diane sipped her coffee, lost in her own world, and Olivia watched her, unable to leave. There were no other customers. It was still a while before the diner would normally open, and no-one would be expecting a chance to come inside. She had already finished most of the preparations for opening up. There was nowhere else she was needed. So, Olivia stood still, hands tucked in front of her, watching Diane drink deeply from the coffee cup she had handed to her.

“Thank you, Olivia,” Diane said suddenly, cutting the silence in two, and startling Olivia back from wherever she had drifted off to. She handed the now nearly empty cup over and Olivia took it, rushing it back to the kitchen, as if she had a whole world of orders left to fill.

When she returned, Diane had pulled herself up onto the table top completely, and was making a slow show of swinging her legs back and forth. They were covered by dark, patterned stockings that crisscrossed with embroidered rosebuds, up and down, and around the stretch of legs not hidden by Diane’s long coat. Far more interesting than the plain, light-coloured tights she was wearing herself. Olivia looked away.

“Did you want anything else, Diane?” Olivia asked. Diane lazily shook her head, and took a few notes from her pocket, ready to pay for the coffee. When Olivia held out her hand, Diane placed the money into it in such an intimate way that it felt like a handshake. Olivia took a second to register that the delicate touch had actually transferred something into her palm, and tucked the money into the pocket of her apron, embarrassed.

“Not especially,” Diane admitted, but made no move to leave. Sitting firmly on her table top, idly kicking her legs. Olivia waited. “I scheduled some time to meet with Nick,” she went on, by way of an explanation, and Olivia realised that this was the behaviour of a bored woman looking for something to occupy her time.

“I’m sorry he’s not here,” Olivia apologised, wondering as she did so why she was bothering. It had already been said, and it was out of her control. Diane smiled darkly.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked. “I’m sure if I was married, and my husband spent so much time, late at night, with another woman, that it would begin to bother me. You must be a very patient woman. Wouldn’t you say so?” The turn in the conversation shocked Olivia. It was not, not by any means, the kind of thing someone addressed directly. Even if Diane had picked up on Olivia’s concerns, or if Nick had, horribly, told her, it was unthinkable that Diane would bring the issue up like this. Calmly. Like it was a discussion about the menu. Olivia had no idea how to respond.

“Uhm…” she began, struggling. Was she meant to answer the questions? Was this just some kind of show of power? She had no idea. People were not her strong suit. Olivia had to admit to herself that she did not have that wide a circle of friends. She was sure she had had more, at one point in time, but not now. People seemed to drift away from her, and most of her old school friends had ended up with families, and spent most of their time sticking together. It had got to such a point that Olivia barely felt confident waving hello to any of her old friends when they accidentally crossed paths in a grocery store. It felt like she was getting in the way, when she saw the tired, blank expressions on people’s faces, as they manhandled an armful of children back into line. It should not have bothered her, she had once thought, because she had Nick. Nick was enough. The two of them had been friends for years. Half her life at this point, she realised, and now it seemed like he was never around. And she had no-one. It was no surprise she did not understand what Diane was trying to say. She was a lonely person, and she was out of practice when it came to social situations, let alone something as complex as this confrontation.

“I considered offering you an apology before now,” Diane went on, fluidly, as if she had expected no response to begin with. Olivia let her carry on talking, deciding it was the easiest thing, and apprehensively curious about where this was going. “Nick barely talks about you, but when he does, I get the impression that you aren’t happy.”

“Not happy?” Olivia repeated weakly. She was still stuck on the part about Nick never mentioning her. Diane nodded, her eyes fixed steadily on Olivia’s.

“With our meetings,” Diane said. “They were never intended to be secretive. I feel that it may have become that way, after all…” She tilted her head slightly to the side, and Olivia took a fraction of a second to absorb the long, slim neck, as it was exposed from under the sweep of red hair. “I am an open person,” Diane added, her voice coming out as light as casual breathing, but with a certain sincerity and strength hiding somewhere within it. “I don’t like the idea of someone like you thinking I’m doing something behind her back.”

“Oh… no, all right, I understand. I believe you.” Olivia hung her head, guiltily. She did believe Diane, now that she was hearing it directly from her. Sure, over time she was bound to convince herself again that there was something happening, that Nick was probably cheating on her, and work herself up over it. For the moment, however, she believed Diane, and she felt bad for having thought anything accusatory about her.

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Diane murmured. Olivia did not know the woman especially well, but she had noticed in the past the way that her voice tended to disappear, like condensation, whenever she was distracted. Apparently, her apology spent, Diane was losing interest. It was a shame. Olivia had just started to warm up to the idea of a bit of conversation to bring some energy to her morning. The snow outside was getting heavier, and she doubted there would be many customers in to distract her today. She might be looking at a solitary shift.

“Can I get you anything else?” Olivia asked, a slight hint of pleading slipping through the cracks, hoping that, with the unpleasantness cleared up, she might have some company a while longer. The idea of working all day alone, with no Nick, no customers, had suddenly hit her surprisingly hard. Diane, unfortunately, did not bite.

“I’m not hungry,” Diane said. “I didn’t come here planning to eat anything. It’s not often I eat out before breakfast.”

“ _For_ breakfast, surely,” Olivia reflexively corrected. There was a moment of silence between them, where the only sound was the light tapping of Diane’s legs as she swayed them back and forth.

“That too,” she eventually agreed. Another brief silence. Olivia was loathe to walk away, but stuck for anything to add. She delicately cleared her throat to have something to do. “Olivia,” Diane began again, sounding softly serious. “Are you happy with Nick?”

“What?” Once again, Olivia found herself surprised by the direct nature of the question. She realised she had raised a hand defensively to her chest, and forced it back down. “Of course I am!”

“I just know that, if I were you –”

“You’re not me!” Olivia squeaked protectively. “Nick and I have been together for a long time now. We may have… started to take each other for granted, sometimes, but that’s our business, and it… he shouldn’t be talking to you about it. It’s _my_ life.” She did not have much when you looked at it, really, but it was her life. Olivia did not want to lose it. It was all she had. What else could she do? There was nothing, nothing, so it was not even worth a second thought.

“You never want anything more than that?” Diane asked. It could very easily have come over as snide, but for some reason, it missed the mark. Olivia was doubtful, but if she went with her gut, she felt that she might instead have picked up on some compassion in the question. Or at least concern.

“Me?” Olivia asked, uncertain again. This exchange was running her around in circles, and she had no idea where any of it was going. It seemed to be all over the place. She could not grasp the common thread of what was happening. “Don’t you mean… I mean… you’re trying to say about Nick. He deserves someone he can talk to, properly, about everything… the art, the paintings. The things I can’t. This isn’t about me.”

“I’m trying to make it about you, if you’d just let me,” Diane sighed with frustration and, impatient for Olivia to catch on, pulled her into her arms and dragged her in close enough to kiss. Which she did, greedily, while Olivia stood dumbstruck, leaning awkwardly forward over the table.

Olivia stood as still as a tree, wrapped up in Diane’s arms, her hands frozen on the edges of the table, either side of Diane’s knees, for support. She was here, in her otherwise empty diner, being kissed by another woman. Not something she had experienced before, and certainly not something she had expected to encounter this morning when she came in to open up. When Diane finally let her go and Olivia, slowly, unconsciously righted herself, there were still no thoughts inside her head beside the one. The word ‘what?’ running back and forth on repeat, like a breaking news bulletin. Back and forth, on and on. What? Excuse me?

“Say something, then,” Diane chided gently, smiling darkly to herself. “I want to know what you think about it.” It took a moment for Olivia to break the one-word cycle inside her skull, finally remembering how to speak.

“Did you come here for this?” she asked weakly. “Was this some sort of plan?”

“No,” Diane answered. “I told you that I came here to talk to Nick about the painter we had been discussing, and I also told you that I am an open person. If I had come in here this morning looking for this, then I would have come out with it the second I walked in the door.”

“Then why…?” Olivia breathed. She was yet to process it all. Her heart was racing, and the overall sensation inside of her was one of utter disbelief.

“Because I decided I wanted it,” Diane said smoothly, cupping Olivia’s soft face in her hands. “I go after what I want. I think you can do better. That you deserve something better.” She curled her lip at the corner, turning her smile slightly savage. “Nick is a close friend of mine, but I recognise a woman whose life is missing something. So, just this once, I promise not to tell if you don’t.” The realisation, the implication of it all, finally caught up with Olivia, creeping through the eternal ‘what?’ in her head and popping it into pieces. She got it. She understood.

“I’m married… even if I wasn’t…” Olivia murmured weakly. It barely sounded like an excuse, even to her, and it was coming out of her mouth. Diane stroked her thumbs against Olivia’s cheeks and the feeling made her want to close her eyes and sink into the floor.

“Lots of people are married, but lots of them are happy,” Diane breathed. “Those that aren’t shouldn’t be punished for something they agreed to in the past. The present is changing all the time. You deserve to be happy, everyone does. Nick seems to be happy with his paintings, and having someone to talk to about them. I think you should get something for yourself, too, don’t you?” Diane held her face very close to Olivia’s, and whispered, thick and secretively, “I can make you feel very happy.”

“Nick wouldn’t know? I would never do anything to hurt him…” Olivia said, realising as the words came out what they meant, and feeling surprised at herself. This was not like her. She had not looked at another man since high school. Though, just maybe, that was the problem. She had not been looking in the right direction. Funny, when she thought about it, how much it made sense. She was not sure whether to thank Diane or blame her for bringing it to her attention.

“He won’t know a thing,” Diane assured her, burying her hands into the carefully combed back sides of Olivia’s hair, loosening it, ruffling it. “He’s not here. Just give yourself a few moments, something for yourself. When was the last time you did something just for yourself?” That was easy, Olivia thought. She could not remember. No hope at all. It occurred to her that, actually, she did want something for herself. Just for once. And why not take what was being offered to her, right in front of her, nails unsettling her hair, lips by her throat?

“Okay,” Olivia said in a tiny voice, nodding to make sure she was understood. “Okay, sure. Why not? Okay.” In response, Diane pulled her forward again, back into the tight hold, bent over the table. More kisses, dozens. This flurry took Olivia’s mind briefly back to the snow outside, and from there to the front door, and to the fact that it was still open. She pulled back, and Diane looked at her from under her eyelids, watching silently as Olivia hurried over to the door of the diner and locked it. The sign still indicated that they were closed, so she left it where it was. Hopefully, if anyone showed up, they would assume that the slowly swelling snowbanks outside were the reason for the delay in opening up.

Thinking on her feet, or barely thinking, as the case may be, Olivia stumbled back towards the table, but Diane was just righting herself. There was a sharp clack as her heels hit the floor, and in the next second, Olivia’s hand was tightly clasped in Diane’s, and she was being walked giddily through to the kitchen. Diane twirled Olivia across the dull concrete floor and she found herself with her back pressed against the central counter. She had a moment to grasp the edges behind her before Diane swept her into another kiss. And another. Rough and fast. One after the other.

“What about the window?” Olivia asked breathlessly, when she was able to pry herself away for a moment. Refusing to take a break, Diane began kissing Olivia’s neck instead, and her ear, trying to unclasp her hair from its bun as she did so. “Diane, the window,” Olivia repeated needily, nudging her away. She motioned towards the large, open window that did a poor job of separating the diner from the kitchen, and which inevitably looked out towards the actual windows at the front of the building. Through which someone could, if they were perhaps curious about why the place was not yet open, look in. Diane looked at where Olivia was gesturing for all of one second.

“We’re out of sight enough,” she insisted smoothly. With a final tug, she got Olivia’s hair loose, and it suddenly fell down in thick locks, which Diane stirred forward, around her face. “Besides, it might be more fun,” Diane went on slyly. “If one of your customers were to catch us in the act, what might they say about it…?”

“That’s not funny,” Olivia gasped, distracted by the sensation of hands playing with her hair.

“As I said, then, we’re out of sight enough.” Diane clearly decided that that was the end of it, and Olivia did not have the will to argue. She knew that arguing about this small element of it would only give her time to talk herself out of all of it. And that, she realised, was not what she wanted. Not now, not anymore. Something just for her, just this once, like Diane had said. They were in a private world, and what happened here, now, in the next few minutes, was all theirs. It would not exist anymore if anyone tried to carry it out into the daylight. The moment would melt into nothing. It could only exist in the present, it could not affect the future.

Olivia did not resist at all as Diane lifted her up onto the countertop. She felt her body slide snugly over the surface, as if it was a chair, a bed, designed for her. Not the stiff and cold counter on which Nick chopped ingredients, every day but today. It had been transformed, by Diane’s particular breed of magic. The strange power she had brought with her, that saw Olivia doing something she had never before even considered. Diane twirled a strand of blonde hair round her finger, in front of Olivia’s face, like she was winding golden thread into a spinning wheel. She let it go and it spun backwards, gently tapping against Olivia’s cheek. The smile on Diane’s face was dark, but not malicious. Hypnotic, without feeling foreboding. It promised something, something that was not exactly good, but something Olivia most desperately wanted to reach for. She was ready to bite.

She wrapped her arms around Diane’s neck and began to take control of the kissing, leading it, feeling the brush and push of Diane’s lips on hers, revelling in it. She could taste the lipstick, practically sucking it off as she was, and wondered if it was much more impressive than the taste of her own plain lips. Very quickly it hit her that Diane was not paying much attention to that minor detail, as the other woman reached for the buttons holding the top of her dress together, and began to tug them all free, one after another. Then, the dress unlocked, Diane slid her hand inside and squeezed Olivia’s breast hard in her hand. Olivia gave off a small whine, which encouraged Diane, and there was another squeeze to follow.

“I want this,” Diane breathed thickly. “Tell me you want it as well.” She withdrew her hand for the sake of pulling Olivia’s cardigan off her shoulders, and began to tackle the apron after that.

“I really do,” Olivia breathed back. She let Diane have her way with the clothes. She was hot in the face, and nervously eager. It had been a long time since there had been anyone else. The way things had been at home, it had been too long since there had even been Nick. Diane did not need to try and convince her. She was already thoroughly convinced.

Diane stopped long enough to cast her coat onto the floor, in a single sharp gesture. The dress she was wearing underneath was one Olivia might have objected to if Diane had managed to meet with Nick, like she had planned. It was tight and clingy, and made Olivia wonder for a moment if Diane had even got changed after last night, but only for a moment. She was easily distracted when Diane pulled up the skirt of her uniform, tugging it harshly, and exposing the crotch of Olivia’s tights. Olivia began to instinctively draw her legs together, but Diane stepped in between her knees, blocking her, and then buried her hand between Olivia’s thighs.

The sensation of the ball of Diane’s hand rocking against her made Olivia’s head swim. She planted her hands firmly on the counter, arms stretched out behind her, and lent her head back, mouth open, smile wide. It went on for a minute, before she sensed Diane’s impatience. She looked back down, just as Diane was attempting to free Olivia from her tights. But Olivia was flushed all over, and the tights were the cheap kind, and stuck thoroughly to her skin. Diane could not pry them away from where they were clinging to her stomach.

“This can go to hell,” Diane hissed sharply, and caught the tights in her sharp nails, tearing them open, as Olivia gasped. Diane smiled to herself, pleased with herself. She gave the sheared material a tug on both sides, and the sound of it loudly tearing shot through the kitchen. “That should be wide enough…” she added, mostly to herself.

“Sure… sure it will,” Olivia mumbled, wondering how she would explain this. Hopefully, she could sneak home, and Nick would still be asleep. She could change her tights then, without him being any the wiser. Though why she was worrying now, she did not know.

Diane wasted no time. She guided two fingers past the boundary of Olivia’s underwear and straight inside her, settling in like they belonged there. Olivia winced slightly at the catch of Diane’s nails, but relaxed into it more when Diane positioned her thumb against her clit. She stroked her lazily in a semicircle, and Olivia had to steady her arms to keep herself firmly upright. It felt disloyal to admit that this was already better than her usual lot, but it was. As long as she did not say it out loud, it would not hurt anyone’s feelings.

Olivia braced herself against the table, struggling for how to participate. Carefully, she brought her hand over, reaching for Diane’s hair, but was gently rebuffed by Diane’s free hand. She placed it back uselessly on the countertop behind her.

“Let me treat you, Olivia. Weren’t you listening?” Diane breathed. “This is all for you.” Olivia found that a shaky smile had crept over her face. If Diane insisted, she thought. And Diane did. She pulled her fingers out and, ignoring the tiny, strangled moan of complaint, put her hand on Olivia’s stomach, pressing her down onto her back. Flattened, Olivia glanced down nervously, looking between her knees, and watched as Diane leant in to kiss her.

“Huh…” Olivia gasped lightly at the touch. Then groaned at the next one. Diane buried her face in Olivia’s pussy, and Olivia craned her neck backwards, giving in open-mouthed with surprise to the feeling. She shifted and squirmed, until Diane took hold of her legs to keep her still. Then, she just lay back, knees over Diane’s shoulders, letting out heavy breaths and darting her eyes around the kitchen. Diane pushed on ceaselessly, clearly experienced at what she was doing, and Olivia fleetingly considered that she might not have needed to worry much about her husband in Diane’s company after all.

The feeling creeping through her made Olivia twitch. It would be nice to have something to hold onto, she thought. Some sheets to dig her fingers into, instead of the cold, bare countertop. Too bad, really, but she did not think asking Diane back to her house was a good idea, for some reason. And she did not think she could have handled sitting patiently in Diane’s car all the way to the art gallery, waiting. She was done waiting.

Diane brought her tongue expertly over Olivia’s clit and Olivia peppered the air with needy moans, whining and complaining, wanting more. She got it. Diane flicked her tongue across again, and again, twirling it in different patterns, teasing. She held Olivia’s thighs firmly in her hands, not letting her squirm too much. Olivia shut her eyes tight, no longer wanting to split her focus on the distraction of the diner. She was nowhere. She was nowhere that mattered, but she was with Diane. That was the only thing she cared about. This moment.

Now, Diane stopped her teasing, and began to rub her tongue forcefully in place, listening for the sounds Olivia made that hinted at what felt best. Olivia, for her part, was completely lost. Her long hair cascaded back over the edge of the counter, her chest was still largely exposed through the unbuttoned part of her dress, heaving with every breath, and her feet kicked frailly into the air, as her thighs squeezed against Diane’s face. Her cheeks were boiling and she sensed that, leaning back as she was, the blood was rushing to her head. Not that that was why she felt so light-headed right now.

“Dia… nng,” Olivia groaned. She could not have formed a coherent sentence if she had a microphone under her nose. It was hopeless even trying to speak. She just wanted Diane to know how good it felt, the way she was eating at her, like she was nibbling away at her soul. Perhaps there would be time to tell her afterwards, though Olivia knew this feeling was the sort, the intensity, that one does not remember perfectly after the fact. It becomes a fuzzy, clouded memory, and the only way to put it into words is with an unsatisfactory ‘it was good’, or something equally inexpressive and useless. It was the kind of feeling that only exists in the moment. It is nothing when it is in the past.

Olivia internally chastised herself for never having tried this before. For never unlocking the fact that you could go up to another woman and ask for this, if you only felt brave enough. She had been missing out. Seriously missing out, she thought, as another particularly well-placed stroke sent her shivering. It was building now. She craned her neck back even further and waited, the pink shape of her tongue hovering just between her open lips.

Diane, well aware of what was happening inside Olivia’s head, gave her a long, drawn-out lick, and then pushed her tongue inside, dropping one of the thighs she had been holding in place long enough to twirl her thumb roughly over Olivia’s clit. And that was the end of it. Olivia let out a choked sigh and reflexively thrust her hips upwards, accidentally knocking into Diane’s jaw. Diane took a stumbled step backwards, rubbing her jaw and wiping her mouth in one. Olivia dragged herself up into a sitting position, embarrassed now that the feeling pumping through her had gone past its peak. She became quite painfully aware that she was in the kitchen at the diner, where her husband cooked, and where she plated up the food.

“How was that?” Diane asked, but with the strong sense that she did not need to be told. Olivia looked down at the floor, catching her breath slowly, and began to limply fumble with her buttons.

“Very nice,” she mumbled weakly. “Very much.”

“Call me if you fancy doing it again some time,” Diane said, business-like, in the voice Olivia suspected she used at art auctions. She gave her mouth another brush with the back of her hand, and smirked darkly. “I certainly had fun.” Olivia struggled for a response, but it turned out she did not need to worry. Diane gave her a very slight nod, reached for her coat, and then turned for the door. Olivia sat in stunned silence as she watched her go. Diane cast her eyes back once, as she reached the front door, and offered a last, parting smile. Her final act was to flip the diner sign from closed to open, before vanishing into the snow.

Olivia got shakily to her feet, and had to grab the edge of the counter for support when she realised it was too early to properly stand. She took a breath and then, when she was steady, readjusted her skirt. Trails of blonde hair were visible, rolling over her shoulders, and she hummed unhappily as she thought about repining her bun without a mirror.

“What have I been talked into this time…” she muttered to herself, fingering the broken material of her tights, and sighing quietly in the silence of the empty diner.


End file.
